


Guardian Angels

by Opora



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, No Angst, No Plot/Plotless, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), literally just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 11:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20873177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opora/pseuds/Opora
Summary: Little snippets of life a South Downs Cottage on Crowley's favorite day of the year





	Guardian Angels

**Author's Note:**

> Even though religion in general would not have the same significance for ethereal/occult beings as it does for humanity, it is my personal headcanon that the feast day honoring Guardian Angels is important to Crowley. Now that Crowley and Aziraphale no longer have to hide from Heaven and Hell, I find it hard to imagine that Crowley isn’t pulling out all the stops... 
> 
> This isn’t my usual writing style, but I was having so much fun imagining this little concept that I couldn’t help but write it. I threw this together really quickly (because I wanted to post it on the actual guardian angels feast day…which didn’t quite happen) so there’s probably some clunky phrasing, but a badly written story is better than no story at all, right?

Time is a human construct that Crowley has never quite grasped. Over the millenia, he has seen clocks and calendars of all types and varieties, but they all just look like numbers and shapes to him. In the last few centuries, as humans have become increasingly dependent on the concept, Crowley has come up with accommodations that make his life among time-obsessed humans a little easier. He straps the times --all of them, from all over the world, because it wasn’t bloody bad enough to have to keep up with time in general, the humans thought it necessary to divide time into zones-- to his wrist so he always has a reference close at hand, but even a specially-designed watch requires an occasional glance if it is ever going to do him any good. Since Aziraphale came back to him, he hasn’t glanced at it once. He’s been far too absorbed in finally getting to just be with his angel that he hasn’t bothered with unnecessary annoyances like human time. Besides, they aren’t on human time. Not anymore. It’s just the two of them, here in this cottage, forever, and as far as Crowley is concerned, nothing else needs measuring. So, he is rather caught off guard when an alarm on his phone reminds him that tomorrow is October 2. 

~ ~ ~

When Aziraphale emerged from the bedroom and looked out the window, he had to blink a few times before he realized that it was flowers (and not a very premature snowfall) that had covered everything in a layer of white. It was as if every branch and blade of grass had suddenly decided they no longer wished to be branches or blades of grass and instead wished to be many varieties of flowers, all in white, and all in bloom. Aziraphale had a sneaking suspicion that a healthy dose of fear had helped to fuel their overnight transformation. He made a mental note to be extra complimentary of the garden today, hoping a much-deserved bit of praise would help calm the anxious flora.

Aziraphale found Crowley in the next room placing a little bunch of fresh-cut bellflowers in a small vase, which he placed next to a mug of cocoa on a tray full of decadent pastries.

“Mmm...it smells delightful! You’ve been busy this morning.”

“Oh, this? ‘S nothing,” Crowley shrugged in the general direction of Aziraphale’s favorite overstuffed armchair. “Come sit down and enjoy your breakfast, angel.”

~ ~ ~

“Thought we might pop into the Ritz for lunch today,” Crowley suggested a couple of hours later.

“The Ritz? In London?”

“ ‘Course in London. Where else?”

When Aziraphale didn’t respond immediately, Crowley softened his tone.

“ ‘s alright, angel. We don’t have to go if you don’t want. Just thought you might enjoy it, ‘s all.”

“Oh, I would, very much, but it seems like a lot of trouble just for lunch--”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Crowley pointed out, and then, suddenly, they were sitting on a bench-- their bench-- in St. James’s park.

~ ~ ~

“ ‘s wrong, angel?”

“Nothing. It’s just, you’re behaving rather unusually today and its putting me a bit on edge.”

“What, I can’t just be happy without some ulterior motive?”

“Not usually, no.”

Crowley didn’t answer, and they continued their stroll in silence until they happened by a flower cart. Crowley bought a rose (white, of course, was the only color on the cart, even though the florist could have sworn he’d started the day selling red ones), and presented it to Aziraphale.

“Jus’ feeling grateful for you, angel.”

Aziraphale blushed. “Oh. How kind of you.”

Crowley could not even pretend to be offended at Aziraphale’s use of a four-letter word.

~ ~ ~

A tartan blanket was spread out behind the cottage. Several bottles of wine, two glasses, one angel, and one demon were spread out on top of it, watching the sunset turn into the stars. Crowley found Aziraphale’s hand, wrapped it in his, and brought it to his lips. He kissed the tangle of their fingers and whispered words that were so familiar they had become a part of him:

_O Holy Angel, attendant of my wretched soul and of my afflicted life, _  
_Do not forsake me, a sinner, nor depart from me for my inconstancy. _  
_O Holy Angel of God, the guardian and protector of my hapless soul and body, _  
_Forgive me all things wherewith I have troubled you, all the days of my life._

~ ~ ~

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“No, never mind, it was a silly thought.”

Crowley turned to face the angel. “Try me.”

“Well...sometimes...just then, you know...it almost seems like...well, like you were...praying.”

“I was.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale concluded, as if Crowley had not just flipped the angel’s entire world upside down with two words.

Crowley would have rather left it at that, kept this one little thing for himself, but he could see the question forming in Aziraphale’s eyes, and he knew that there would never be a time when he wouldn’t give Aziraphale exactly what he wanted.

“Do you know what today is, angel?”

“It’s Wednesday, dear, why?”

“No--not like that. I just meant it’s the second day of October. ‘S my favorite day.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize, my dear. Any particular reason?”

“ ’s the Memorial Feast of the Guardian Angels.”

The implications of that statement nearly knocked Aziraphale senseless, but he somehow managed a response.

“Oh, Crowley!” There enough warmth in his voice to render the blanket useless. Then, a moment later, once he’d had time to recover from such an overwhelming rush of love, “I didn’t realize you kept up with the observances of the Catholic church, dear.”

“Nah...just the one, really,” he shrugged.

~ ~ ~

A few moments later, Crowley was lost in the stars, and Aziraphale was lost in Crowley. Words found their way into his mind from somewhere deep within his soul--his own silent prayer to his own guardian angel: _Ever this night be at my side, to light and guard, to love and guide._


End file.
